


pyre

by specterrific



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Anal Sex, Asphyxiation, Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Sibling Incest, mentions of pregnancy if the mere conceptualisation of that is Not Your Thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:02:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29155530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/specterrific/pseuds/specterrific
Summary: (chaldea era); Kippoushi puts his finger on why Nobukatsu doesn’t like to see him.
Relationships: Oda Kippoushi/Oda Nobukatsu
Kudos: 2





	pyre

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ THE TAGS. THIS IS HEAVILY DUB-CON. and extremely moody, 
> 
> started as a dissection of the nobukatsu > kippoushi my room line, and also makes reference to the kippoushi > nobukatsu one, which might trigger discomfort for some fellow trans people (implied forced genital exposure). discretion is advised. he/him for kippoushi, but with female terms still used sometimes (like how people call artoria father and king.) sometimes they/them to represent nobunaga’s existence as a whole. kippoushi tops here if that’s important to you. 
> 
> 这个坑是在十月底开的，当时因为期末再加上寒假放纵自己摸鱼一直鸽了很久，本来还想再鸽一会儿然而突然发现继续这样下去很难避免撞梗（大概已经有部分撞上了，为了安全起见请不能接受这个可能性的人士按后退键），真的是很抱歉很后悔没有早点催自己施完工，窒息play和临近死亡的性爱是我个人性癖里的第一位，所以一开始就是冲着这个写的，希望澄清这一点能避免误解。如果能理解的话我感激不尽。

“Match.” 

The second figure in the room stirred, slight as a goldfish flipping its tail. “How long?” 

“Hmm.” Kippoushi’s gaze darted to where Nobukatsu’s gloved hand had already closed around the pair of scissors, a length of rope next to it on his lap. It was of hemp, favoured in western utilage, rather than the braided cypress that Kippoushi was better acquainted with. 

When Kippoushi had dumped a bunch of supplies ungraciously into one of the spare rooms intended for the Servants’ recreational gatherings and declared the place as his temporary workshop of the day, the rope had been loose. While he wasn’t looking, Nobukatsu had coiled it all around a spool he fashioned from god-knows-where, then transferred it to his lap precisely before Kippoushi’s request. They sat together on the sofa, Nobukatsu with his knees pressed neatly together, nary a wrinkle on his uniform, and Kippoushi with the heel of one boot on his other thigh. His matchlock rested in the crook of his arm. 

This afternoon’s maintenance required Kippoushi’s utmost concentration, thus necessitating the most vacant space possible. He had just collected his weapon back from Da Vinci, days after an impulsive round of dismantling to examine exactly what made up his legendary half-sword, half-gun. What he had not foreseen was that it would not come back together on its own, try as he might to demand it with his entire willpower. 

“So you broke it,” Okita had nodded, washing down the pickled radish aftertaste with a tremendous slurp of soup. Normally, she’d be sitting with that Demon Archer, but today their niece had requested her accompaniment somewhere. 

“You’re making it sound like it’s some big irreversible deal.” Kippoushi waved an impatient hand. “It’s not like I understand everything, and if it’s about firearms—especially _my own firearm_ —then I hate not knowing even more.”

Okita didn’t seem convinced. This probably went into her mental tally of her score against all Nobbus combined. Even if Kippoushi didn’t mind, it might get used as ammunition against his other self eventually, and that hardly seemed fair, the fact that Okita got three times the dirt (four?) than what they have on her. He decided to call for backup. 

“Right, Nobukatsu?” 

He elbowed the space to his left, jabbing his younger brother squarely in the ribs and causing him to spill almost everything he had in his bowl. In hindsight, that had been poor judgment on his part; half of him still expected his arm to pass right through the other’s flickering form. Only recently did Nobukatsu gain a Saint Graph at a singularity in Japan’s distant past—the smaller, haughtier him gave him little more than the basics of the happenings. 

“Whoa, my bad. Here—” Kippoushi poured the rest of his own miso into Nobukatsu’s container, and called to Ritsuka near the front of the canteen line to bring him another serving. 

Nobukatsu had stared at him so hard that Kippoushi thought his eyes were going to pop out from their sockets. 

Actually, it wasn’t that Kippoushi needed someone else to defend his actions—the banners of those who jeered at him would fall eventually down the line, whenever he was happy to pluck it out of their lifeless hands. It was simply that he noticed he had been singled out. 

Nobukatsu broke no sweat coming to terms with whatever the other scrawny girl or the tall, infernal woman desired. But somehow, their cogs missed each other when it was Kippoushi. It was morbidly new to him that Nobukatsu, who had always been barely a handspan away back when they played together in the citadel, would skirt around him. In life, Kippoushi had to climb trees and vault walls to ditch his brother when he got tired of seeing him. Here in Novum Chaldea, all he could catch was the hem of his pitch black mantle turning the corner. 

Human Servants knew intimately that the familiar was easily eroded by time; Nobunaga, most of all, never tried to rescue anything past expiration, not even themselves. But it was not that Nobukatsu had finally outgrown his older sibling. The recorded discrepancy in their parameters on their profiles (not to mention that awful Noble Phantasm—were the Throne of Heroes physically represented, Kippoushi would be giving it a piece of his mind, backed by an armada of things that went “bang”) only made him all the more reliant. 

It didn’t sour Kippoushi. However, much like incomprehensible weapons of choice, an unpredictable disposition in someone he could once unravel with a single look frustrated him. It ate a growing blindspot into the corner of his vision. 

He didn’t want to ask the other hims for their opinion. For some reason, that felt like losing. And besides, if _he_ didn’t have a clue, then how much could they have? Nobukatsu was all bark and no bite, anyways. If Kippoushi wanted to read him like an open book, all he needed to do was give his spine a little crack. 

So he dragged Nobukatsu in here. It went off without a hitch: Nobukatsu had immediately agreed when Kippoushi brought it up, saving Kippoushi from having to use one of his backup plans of bribing him with something more enticing, like a hike in the simulations, or the partnered crime of cup noodle at midnight. That would be the less efficient use of time—reassembling his weapon was still his topmost priority, and disappearing off somewhere with Nobukatsu alone was not something he wanted to attempt without a clear procedure in mind, so Kippoushi was content he struck two birds with one stone, per his original wishes. 

He also concluded from the hasty acceptance that, no matter which one it was with, time spent with Nobunaga was irrefutably precious for Nobukatsu, _even_ if he had been nothing but a sitting duck that did little else than nodded wordlessly at intervals since they entered the room. Had Nobukatsu blown him off, had he sat anywhere away from Kippoushi in the cafeteria, Kippoushi could’ve cared less. The fact that Nobukatsu _chose_ to bring himself here, then snuffed out every starter Kippoushi gave for a conversation, was what ticked him off. 

Whatever. This wasn’t some heartwarming reunion. He was here to take a stab at an ugly can of worms. 

He’d better get a move on. 

“Wanna see it?” he abruptly prompted, the matter of the match hurtling into the distance like a disconnected train car. No stranger to Kippoushi’s fleeting attention span, Nobukatsu took his time to blink in quiet contemplation before responding. 

“We’ll... It’s kind of hard to miss.” Yet, as if cued, Nobukatsu afforded the matchlock a few more pointed looks. Kippoushi rolled his eyes at the spare act of courtesy. He snapped his fingers, instantly sublimating his firearm into its spirit form. Without it anchoring Nobukatsu’s line of sight, the younger’s eyes startled like sparrows fleeing a tree branch, flitting aimlessly about for somewhere else to latch onto. 

“I meant my dick.” 

He didn’t wait for Nobukatsu to recover from spluttering, kicking his boots off and shifting to face Nobukatsu on the sofa, cross-legged. “What? Isn’t that what you’re so hung up on?”

 _It can’t be_ ; that much Kippoushi knew for certain. Nobukatsu, of all people, would be the last to change his attitude regarding what went on between Nobunaga’s legs. But the thing about playing the act of a fool was—people wear their hearts on their sleeves more when they think it’s hopeless for you to understand. 

Nobukatsu still would not look at him, so he forged on. 

“Your little damsel-in-distress fantasy going up in smoke when it comes to me?” 

“That’s not—” That got his attention; Kippoushi could see it in the agitated flare of his flame-tipped ponytail, his scarlet eyes blurring within Kippoushi’s own, a case of quadruplets. How odd it must have been for Nobukatsu to find himself arrested in Kippoushi’s fiery gaze when he turned, rather than the crown of Nobunaga’s head, the golden tip of her cap, or even her crimson silhouette for him to bury himself in. 

“I’ve never thought of her that way. Please, what are you trying to say?” 

Kippoushi slammed him into the sofa, head narrowly missing the armrest, his cap rolling to a sad stop on the ground, the wind in him knocked out in a cough. 

“Don’t—“ he warned, firmly but calmly. Calmness was his more potent anger. “—Get smart with me. You’re meticulous. You know what you’re doing. And you know what that—”

Wait, Nobukatsu should know better than anyone what that gets him, because that was how it ended last time. There was no reason for Nobukatsu to play with the fire of the object of his adoration. Kippoushi’s brows furrowed. Unless... _Unless_...

“You...” He seethed, fist clenching and unclenching. _You never learn, do you?_ He wanted to shout. That was still not quite right. Should he hurt him? Comfort him? What’s the use if everything he did was going to get deflected. He wanted to laugh. _Why claim to understand someone the most when all you did was falsely presume._

“ _Aneue_ ,” the body underneath called to him, its smile weak yet unfaltering. Kippoushi felt Nobukatsu’s thin fingers snake up his wrists, took his broad palms into smoother ones, and crossed them languidly over his own throat. 

“ _Aneue_ ,” he continued again, a little more giddily. “This Nobukatsu… Should have been long gone.

_So why am I still here?”_

And even with the flame that threatened to spill from his core at any moment, Kippoushi could feel the emanating chill from Nobukatsu. The boy of flesh and blood on his heels at any given moment had long dissipated. He was facing a skeletal corpse. 

So that was the answer, then. That was the reason for their weird game of cat-and-mouse: Nobukatsu simply could not find his own reflection in the eyes of a Nobunaga who had not yet soaked their hands with his blood. 

“I was initially confused, too, until I met you,” Nobukatsu ventured on with his delusion. “Even though we know it was what transpired, you haven’t… Actually killed me, right? And if I’ve never died for you, how would I be here now, as a Heroic Spirit, facing you… It didn’t make sense, so I thought—perhaps this is my purpose here, this is why I am here, so it can all be completed once more—”

His voice splintered off as Kippoushi crushed the heel of his thumb against his windpipe. 

The thing is, no matter if he kicked, scratched, beat, or threatened with a musket barrel to the temple, Nobukatsu would be getting what he wanted, further walking Kippoushi down a plank he had no choice in. The more he thought about it, the more infuriated he felt, and the more his grip tightened uncontrollably. Servants, strictly speaking, did not need oxygen. Asphyxiating someone when you could drive a blade through their ribs was but a waste of time. It was time that Kippoushi dragged out, slowly, defiantly, hearing Nobukatsu’s breath fray from the edges, from short, disjointed syllables to single vowels, then to nothing, to void. No retaliation, just the younger’s doe-like eyes etching out every change in Kippoushi’s face before growing hazy, his hands still placed warmly on Kippoushi’s own. 

It wasn’t fair. The sole reason he was lulled so easily into this trap was because of how history was embedded in them. Nobunaga slew their backstabbing brother and emerged victorious; that was the conclusion, ultimately, when their Spirit Origins collided. Nobukatsu was content being the centre of this blackhole distorting them, his sentiment something Kippoushi could not even begin to fathom. He gritted his teeth. No, it wasn’t fair that he was alone on both their sides. He had to jerk himself away from this nightmarish tunnel. He wasn’t going to play into that little shit’s hands. 

The next second he felt his teeth break Nobukatsu’s lower lip. A beat after that, the all too familiar taste of iron spread across his tongue. That deer-in-the-headlights flash of fright, so foreign from the smile before, was how Kippoushi knew the scale was tipping back towards him. He heard Nobukatsu whimper, then, _at fucking last_ , the body beneath him began to squirm away. All that sent through him was a malicious thrill as he threw his hands off Nobukatsu’s throat, and tore the other’s belt, pistol and blade still attached, off his uniform. He flung it across the room, as far as possible. It landed with a hollow clang in the corner, and was soon joined by the pair of scissors. Every breath Nobukatsu tried to draw in Kippoushi sealed off with his own mouth, fingers clawed in the other’s collar, apathetic to the panicked heaving of the other’s chest. 

There was no longer any deliberation in his actions. He was going to pull Nobukatsu from the altar he had built, even if he was the fire that consumed them from within. He wanted to lash out at destiny, at fate, at all the things Nobunaga reduced to ash—he wasn’t going to become the pyre that Nobukatsu threw himself upon. 

(Right, this must have been her torment. More than having to kill him, she could not convince him away from his resolve for immolation.)

Nobukatsu’s absurd compromise between keeping his senior off himself and minimising the injuries dealt would have been comical, had Kippoushi’s patience not long since faded. He felt Nobukatsu’s heel graze his hip bone, at such a slight angle that most of the force overshot him. Seizing momentum, Kippoushi twisted his hand into the fabric of Nobukatsu’s trousers, and slotted their lower bodies flush together. Nobukatsu was already half-hard. To say that was a surprise would be running blind from the truth. 

“What? Is copulation that much scarier than dying? Don’t make me laugh.” 

Nobukatsu was entirely red. Whether it was from when Kippoushi constricted him or his centuries-old secret finally catching up to them both, Kippoushi didn’t really care. He had been gulping for air, but when Kippoushi mocked him, every nervous tick in him froze. He stared, despairingly, as if Kippoushi had hit him, then he buried his face in his forearms and started to cry. 

The adrenaline had ebbed from them now. Left lurking in the room, unspoken, was a far more insidious carnality. Kippoushi leaned back and watched the ceiling. He felt sick, and suddenly exhausted. He had already accomplished what he came for; the mystery was solved. In theory, he was free to leave. But as a person, he could only sit dumbly, rooted to the spot. Eons passed in their shared solitude; just him, and Nobukatsu wracked by ceaseless emotion, gnawing at the conscience in Kippoushi that had been collecting dust. 

“Kanjuurou,” he whispered the other’s childhood name, bending forwards to hover over him. When there was no response, he picked the other up and scooped him into his lap. Nobukatsu wouldn’t put any of his weight on his sister; he sat on his knees, hands tucked. 

“Kanjuurou, c’mon, don’t be a baby.” His voice sounded so stiff it made him want to retch. Fuck, was he bad at coaxing his brother without some sort of material prize for shutting up. But he _did_ just talk Nobukatsu away from dying—evaporating—whatever. He shouldn’t be the villain here, Kippoushi thought to himself annoyedly as Nobukatsu continued to use his shoulder as a tissue. _Kanjuurou did it_ , he’d tell the servants, and, okay, sometimes it _had_ been a (harmless) fib, but no-one ever believed him anyways. 

Nobukatsu’s hiccoughs finished before Kippoushi’s reminisce did, though he stayed there, draped over Kippoushi like a wooden doll. Waking to reality, Kippoushi found himself again enclosed by sheer, artificial walls. 

That, and deafening quiet. 

He had a bad feeling about this—both instinct and experience rang the alarm. Nobukatsu’s shivering exhale swept over him like mist upon a lake, raising goosebumps in its wake. 

“Nobukatsu?”

Dread culminated, in the barely perceptible deceit of lips brushing his shoulder, so subtle that Kippoushi had wanted to believe it was an accident, some hallucination. Their bodies locked, twin statues on a pedestal, freshly excavated from the sands of time, their anatomy to be appraised anew. Reading no rejection in the recipient, the fluttering sensation repeated itself, once, twice, toeing the line. Its persistence was born not from mishap, but from hunger. 

Nobukatsu’s mouth skimmed only where he could reach while his head was bowed: Kippoushi’s collar, the base of his neck, each touch spectral and reverential. Like snowflakes they vanished into the heat of Kippoushi’s skin upon contact. Rather than arousing him, they tickled Kippoushi badly. Reflexively, he wanted to shy away, but he could not possibly concede here—hunger was infectious in sealed spaces. So he distracted himself playing with the ribbon tying Nobukatsu’s hair up. An idle tug was all it took to set it free. Compared to their hair, Nobukatsu’s didn’t have a lot of volume. Still, Kippoushi noted the shudder in Nobukatsu’s shoulders when the strands fanned across his back. 

“You sure kept it long.”

He gathered the umber tresses by the fistful, and jerked backwards violently so Nobukatsu’s face resurfaced to eye-level with a pained gasp. Without pause he kissed him, to watch the tremor in Nobukatsu’s thin body contort into something fuller, more tidal; waves of muddied desire, encased in near five-hundred years of glacial guilt, now laid exposed to rot in rhythm with their shallow respiration, echoed air confined by the waning aperture between them. His hand roamed over Nobukatsu’s breastbone and felt it rise to fill the space of his palm, while his tongue sank into the receiving abyss of his mouth. Beneath Nobukatsu’s brittle exterior, he was tender everywhere Kippoushi made his landing; unworked clay waiting to be carved. As he felt up Nobukatsu’s lower back the other sighed sleepily into his lips, so vulnerable it almost sedated him. The wound from his bite earlier was still there; he traced over it with his teeth. 

Layers came undone. Kippoushi shrugged off his own jacket, and Nobukatsu, as always, took the signal to mirror him. Mantles were shed, uniforms discarded. Towards the end of unbuttoning his spotlessly white shirt Nobukatsu stopped, as if forgetting the directions, and glanced at Kippoushi, who dropped his heavy belt to the floor. 

“You can keep that on, if you want,” Kippoushi told him. If it would bring him some semblance of comfort, being one last line of defence separating them from true intimacy. Nobukatsu nodded, did as he was suggested, and removed his gloves. He had supple hands, hands that had not been allowed to wrinkle. When Nobukatsu took two of those fingers into his mouth, Kippoushi averted his eyes. He eased Nobukatsu out of his underwear, did his best to ignore the imagery inches from him, until Nobukatsu at last decided he was ready and dipped his slicked fingertips past his entrance. 

The thing about his eldest younger brother was that he always took his sweet time with everything while Kippoushi was a creature of impatience. This subdued pace bored him; they’d be getting nowhere at this rate. And he’d really rather not watch Nobukatsu fist himself for ten agonising minutes. 

“Hey,” Kippoushi whistled. 

“Y-Yes? What's—”

With all the dexterity of sneaking snow down Kanjuurou’s shirt in bygone winters, Kippoushi plunged two of his own left fingers into the other’s mouth. 

Nobukatsu gagged a little. But he quickly took the hint and began sucking generously. Kippoushi saw the pink soar to his ears. His mouth was soft as a dream, impossibly wet and brimming with keen vibrations that twisted knots into Kippoushi’s stomach. His tongue lapped up the underside of his fingers, swiped across the back of their joints, before prying tentatively at the closed off slit between them—that should be enough, Kippoushi estimated, retrieving his hand and joined it with Nobukatsu’s one to guide it deeper within, surrounded by the walls contracting at the intrusion. He doesn’t let escape how Nobukatsu’s thighs slacked outwards, letting gravity drive him lower. Nobukatsu had shut his eyes, most probably in embarrassment. Kippoushi could work with that. 

He dragged his tongue over his right palm, and wrapped it around the other’s cock. The stunned protest from Nobukatsu was wholly preempted. 

“Wait, that’s—”

Speech dissolved to clumsily concealed moans as Kippoushi slid his calloused hand up and down the shaft, in tandem with his fingers still stretching the other open. Nobukatsu’s frail frame, trapped with nowhere to go, began to tremble between two points of pleasure. There was no avoiding rutting into his sister’s hand while he fucked himself on his own. At that, Nobukatsu’s movements stalled, and Kippoushi took advantage of the window to curl against the other’s prostate, drinking in how the body above him at once tensed like a bowstring. 

“Hah—That’s n-not—I thought—”

Kippoushi didn’t probe further, simply rubbed circular motions into the sensitive spot, his other hand playing with the overstimulated head. Soon, the reluctant whines that slipped from Nobukatsu gave way to tears as he succumbed to orgasm. 

“Thought what?” Kippoushi chimed innocently, wiping his hands on the other’s leg. This whole time he had tried to keep a straight face. Now, the corner of his mouth couldn’t help but give away a flash of his canine as Nobukatsu, lower body still quivering, accused him with red-rimmed eyes. The kind of look that effortlessly consolidated sympathy from their mother and servants alike, which only gave Kippoushi an alibi for wanting to scrub it into the dirt. 

Nobukatsu was much too fixated on Kippoushi’s own erection, the heel of his palm kneading hesitantly at the seat of Kippoushi’s pants. Yet unlike Nobukatsu who was blinded by yearning, Kippoushi was fuelled by childish, rekindled spite. It was as sinful as dangling a pastry in front of Kanjuurou’s eager mouth, then wolfing it down in one bite. 

“ _Aneue._ ”

Kippoushi didn’t acknowledge him. 

“You wonder why I tried to undress you during our first encounter.” 

He wasn’t wrong, but that run-in hadn’t bothered Kippoushi as much as the cold shoulder, partly because it was easier to deduce: Nobukatsu took Nobunaga’s nonchalance towards nudity as default. Neither of them were particularly affected by their sexes, especially the older. That lent weight to why Nobukatsu kept his hair trimmed like a woman’s, with the sides trailing to where breasts should be and the ponytail tied low. Those were the first discrepancies between this Nobukatsu and the one he knew in life that Kippoushi had noticed upon arriving in Chaldea, seconds before Nobukatsu flew at him. 

Had it been any other one of his younger brothers, Kippoushi could leave it at boyish curiosity; they would want to tease the strapping young man their sister had always worn the skin of, and he’d let them. Only because it was Nobukatsu could he never shake off the apprehension of something murky in the depths. The younger took so many answers with him to the grave he dug for himself. 

Nobukatsu’s hand had disappeared from Kippoushi’s crotch, retreating to settle on his stomach that was stained with his own semen. 

That was enough for Kippoushi to complete the puzzle. 

Since childhood Kippoushi had always been astute, picking up details others missed. Rather than assure them that the next Oda head would be cunning and capable, though, his wit seemed to offend the grown-ups. A wise man once cautioned the young heir he’d make many enemies if he kept revealing his cards too fast, so Kippoushi heeded his advice and became the Fool of Owari. 

He kind of wished he was a real fool right now. 

There was little that Nobukatsu would conceal from Nobunaga; he had given up doing so long ago. On the other side of the coin, Nobukatsu desperately patched together each and every vision of Nobunaga he could garner to best fulfill his dark, delirious fantasies. 

Nobunaga’s womb was too barren a thing to covet; its mere existence had been redacted from Nobukatsu’s knowledge. Had they the miraculous ability to, Kippoushi was sure Nobukatsu would relieve her of it and offer his own insides in exchange. Kippoushi’s eyes shifted back to Nobukatsu’s sticky belly. 

There was no womb there, but with Kippoushi’s effort, it’ll be the closest thing to consummating them. 

It had never been about ascertaining anything in the first place. The answer was much cruder, much more primal. 

“Let me help you,” Nobukatsu lied. Kippoushi hated his enduring facade. 

“It’ll hurt,” was all he said before spreading the other and forcing himself in. The pleas for him to be gentler were almost instant. He ignored them. Nobukatsu was a baby who’d bawl at being pinched. Those pleas weren’t cheap imitations of women solely for show, so he wasted no time thrusting deeper, rougher, teasing the other with chaste kisses to the cheek that did not match his actions. 

He had intended this to be punishment, to be a slap in the face. He wanted to pin Nobukatsu to the spot while watching him writhe, inescapable in his own humiliation, as naked as a concubine that knew full well this was the one chance she was permitted for flowering. _You were the one that chose this. You had always been selfish in choosing what_ you wanted _to hear and borrow from me. Now I will give you exactly that and no more. Take it or leave_ _it._ But in the end he took Nobukatsu’s hands off the other’s ankles, where they had been gripping until the knuckles blanched, and folded them behind his neck anyways. 

(Perhaps he was afraid, too, afraid that when he brought his brother’s arms over his shoulders they were already limp, unresponsive, and he’d find himself looking at a corpse with crimson eyes and a crooked smile again—He could step over bodies of gods and spirits without a backwards glance, but it was infinitely harder to exorcise what haunted him right before his eyes—)

Instead, Nobukatsu’s fingers clasped themselves obediently around Kippoushi’s nape, knitting the two of them together. For the first time that day, Kippoushi felt his heart inexplicably skip. He dug his nails into Nobukatsu’s sides and dragged him down as far as he was able, numb to the clenched sobs drawn out. The spidery red marks entranced him, laying evidence of warmth he had stoked in the other. The warmth that enveloped his length now, swallowing him inwards. Kippoushi’s gaze was trained on where their bodies connected, but he could feel Nobukatsu scrutinising him intensely enough to impale. 

“Look at yourself,” Kippoushi commanded, tone strained in his exertion. He cupped the back of Nobukatsu’s head once more and faced him downwards. It’d be a waste if Nobukatsu didn’t remember with him. How he disappeared into the other’s pliant body, again and again, the friction that stroked him when he pulled out, tightening unwillingly at the parting. The little saliva they had for lubrication messed with pre-cum dripping down Nobukatsu’s thighs. 

“This is… Hah… What you wanted, isn’t it? No take backs? No more—no more complaints?”

Nobukatsu answered him in unpractised rolls of the hips, in greedy, imploring kisses to Kippoushi’s jaw. Kippoushi could see where the tear stains under his eyes kept being washed away by new waves. 

Aneue, he replied. His voice melted like candle wax and burnt Kippoushi’s skin just as much. _I know I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do._

 _Is that it? You’re realising_ now _?_

 _Why would you… After knowing… Why would you_ want _to make me love you more when you could’ve... You really can be cruel sometimes..._

Sweat shimmered where Nobukatsu’s hair had been tucked back. Amidst the excuses which he had predicted every variation of in his mind, Kippoushi touched his lips to the fading bruises on Nobukatsu’s throat. 

Nobukatsu’s second climax was mostly quiet, save for the unfamiliar appellation collapsing into Kippoushi’s shoulder as gentle as sea foam crashing to shore. Kippoushi held him through the stutter of his release, his own pace buckling. He was so close, he just needed—

Something strange and sharp scorched his right shoulder. 

Nobukatsu had sunk his teeth into him. 

“Ah—”

He fumbled to pull Nobukatsu away, and, at the last second, came hard on his inner thigh. How loud he was surprised the both of them. Stars danced about the back of his eyelids. He was drifting, feather light. Nobukatsu must have been too tired to fight it. That, or he had foreseen it also. As Kippoushi sat there, back against the armrest and panting heavily, Nobukatsu stayed unmoving between his legs. Even when Kippoushi’s hands detached from Nobukatsu’s hips, Nobukatsu’s own fingers lingered around his neck. 

As much as he’d hate to admit, it comforted Kippoushi a little. He had set out to find an explanation for their predicament, not a solution. Maybe, from now on, Nobukatsu would take care of himself a little more rather than delegating it all to his sister. _I gave him what he could never ask of by himself_ , Kippoushi tried to rationalise in his head. _I deserve_ something _in return at least._

His eyes refocused, to see Nobukatsu peering up at him through glassy, half-lidded eyes, framed by dishevelled hair. His face pressed to the front of Kippoushi’s shoulder, so all that was visible were the thin edge of his lips, and his irises darkened to the hue of dried scars. Where had Kippoushi encountered those eyes before? When low-hanging pine needles caressed his cheeks in early spring. A few paces behind him, Nobukatsu would be in his falconry gear, wading through knee high wild grass. He’d greet Kippoushi eye-to-eye with a fond remark for the fair weather. Their twin breaths met as hanging fog in the blue morning. 

In the present, Kippoushi saw Nobukatsu’s mouth part slightly. The gesture was too bleak to be a smile (thought perhaps, once upon a time, it may have wanted to be). Then it drowned itself in Kippoushi’s skin to lick at where his bite had barely made an impression. 

Kippoushi groaned and peeled his little brother off his lap. 

“Wait.”

“What—whoa!” And suddenly Nobukatsu was hugging him so hard that Kippoushi felt the life being squeezed from him. 

“Do you _have_ to do that while we’re like _this_?” Kippoushi couldn’t shove back, only shrink in on himself like a cat. “Eugh, gross. Calm down!”

Nobukatsu immediately let go of his sister and sat back on his heels. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, way too serious for the atmosphere in the room. Kippoushi didn’t dare laugh. “You know, when I said ‘wherever _aneue_ goes, Nobukatsu always follows,’ I didn’t mean for it to be an empty promise.”

Silence. Kippoushi wiggled his toes awkwardly. 

“Look, you really don’t have to say something profound all because we—”

“I won’t try to leave you on your own again!”

“Okay, okay! We can save that for when you’re dressed!” 

“R-Right!”

Nobukatsu set Kippoushi’s clothes aside in an orderly pile first, then went to pick his own off the ground. When he realised Kippoushi had gone still as a rock, he spun around worriedly.

“ _Aneue_? Is something wrong?”

“Nah, it’s nothing.” Kippoushi feigned a yawn that twisted into a stretch, scrunching up whatever stupid expression he must have had on his face. But his mind was still on that weird feeling Nobukatsu’s fleeting embrace had left, like when they were younger, when Nobukatsu was scared of Nobunaga falling out the persimmon tree, and kept trying to drag them down from the branches back to the ground. 

Kippoushi relaxed his arms again. 

_Just that you haven’t done that in a while._

**Author's Note:**

> i don’t think i’ve ever worked this hard or spent this long on a fic. this was half written out of my spite at ppl going “haha nobukatsu doesn’t want a dude sister.” like hello did u even read their entire backstory. i did however want to explore why he says he can’t get used to kippoushi and this is the conclusion i arrived at. 
> 
> also i’m still gonna make girl nobbu fuck katsu eventually so i’m thereby immune to “oh you only like them for hot yaoiz” critiques. 
> 
> WHERE ARE FICS OF THEM THAT HAVE PLOT
> 
> thanks for making it this far !!!!


End file.
